lies and promises
by alexmis
Summary: Nathaniel died. Or at least, he should have. Bartimaeus fully expected this, and to swim in the Other Place forever. But there he was, in an all too familiar pentacle, a few weeks after the Glass Palace incident. / a little drabble i wrote a few years ago after having another ptolemy's gate breakdown. polished slightly but un-beta'd


I wasn't sure exactly how long I was drifting through the Other Place before I was summoned once more. I paid no heed to the passage of time.(1) My thoughts were a twisted heap that I tried to keep to myself. I didn't want my thoughts to join with everyone else. Like my memories of Ptolemy, I kept my memories of Nathaniel guarded. I balled my grief up tiny, so tiny, even though all I longed for was to release it. Get rid of it. But memories don't work that way.

(1: Time works far differently in the Other Place to begin with, but I really couldn't keep track of it. I was too busy with my pitiful wallowing. 2,000 years or so can slide by rather quickly. A human's lifetime can float by even quicker.)

My essence was still tainted(2) with our One-ness. It was as though I could taste Nathaniel's mind, feel it, and that made it all the worse. There were so many glimpses of his past, his feelings and thoughts. So many were confusing, so to pass the time, I tried to sort them, and I clung to the fragments tightly.

(2: Tainted was the wrong word, exactly. I still felt him on me, like mixed paint that you can't separate.)

When we were first One, and I knew his thoughts and emotions, all I could feel from him was emptiness. Loneliness. Sadness. Such awful sadness, grey and muddy and thick and heavy, far too heavy for someone of his age.

Now don't take me for some sap, mind you, I hated the brat. Well, I hated John Mandrake. John Mandrake, the power-hungry, emotionless magician that stole away Nathaniel and locked him up in the back of his mind. John Mandrake, who chipped away at Nathaniel until he was little more than a spark.

But John Mandrake was dead. And not gone with Nathaniel, no, he died sometime before. In Nathaniel's mind, I felt his overwhelming guilt. His reasoning. He was a magician, raised through and through. He was supposed to be an ambitious lowlife - it's part of the job description. John Mandrake did what he had to to as a magician so that he survived(3). Nathaniel had just been a casualty in the end.

(3: _Survived_ was an understatement. Living it up, high and mighty on the council. Psh.)

Actually, in the end, it had been John Mandrake who had been the casualty. Nathaniel shined through. Oh, how he had shined through - he had saved me.

Let me repeat that, for those of you who might not understand the significance - He let me go. His final, weak breaths were given to my Dismissal. I might not have been able to get a final word in, but I gave him my feelings. I pushed them with such strength, I made sure he felt them in his last few seconds.

He died knowing that I loved him(4).

(4: Not in the same way I loved Ptolemy(4.1), of course, never in that way. They're far too different, and yet strikingly familiar. I can't compare them, but I can't help but to do just that. Well, we'll get to that later. (4.1: Thinking of Nathaniel was a bit refreshing, actually. It was a distraction for a separate, deeper grief. From the frying pan into the fire.))

And in his last few seconds, he gave me his thoughts as well. Well, not on purpose - he was just so weak, and slipping away, his thoughts drifted and melted into mine, and he let me take them. He wanted me to take them. And I did. I could still feel them. Warm, soft, just hardly there. Thoughts of so much guilt - Imagine that! Guilty, for the way he treated me. I felt his ache for me, to be close with me - he hadn't kept me in service so long as to keep himself safe, but because he _liked_ being around me. He was an odd one, Natty boy(5).

(5: Well, not _too_ odd. Just one in a couple billion or so. I mean, who _wouldn't_ love my company?)

Nathaniel had made his liking for me rather clear in his final moments. A sweet taste to a bitter ending. At least with Ptolemy, I had had years to love him, openly. But Nathaniel's something I'll never really know. A what-if. I don't know if that made it less painful or far more so. I was leaning towards the latter.

During my stay in the Other Place, I also remembered not only his mind, but his body as well. Ptolemy I had down to the atom, and I was rather proud of that - and I had a good idea of Kitty(6) as well, but I'd never done a Nathaniel.

(6: Ah, Kitty Jones. I missed her too. She was a good human. I hoped she was well. I'm glad I didn't have to mourn for her. I'm afraid my metaphorical heart just wouldn't be able to take it.)

I shaped my essence into his. Into his last form. Well, his last _presentable_ form. I didn't bother with the scorch marks from the Pestilence, or the horrible wound to his ribs(7). I shaped my essence into his pale, lithe if not gangly form, dark cropped hair and blue, blue eyes. I took his form as how I felt it when we were One - and it was a pretty damn good replica, if I do say so myself. Definitely Nathaniel. I was almost a little bitter about being able to get his details down so accurately, since I had felt them; been them - Ptolemy was a study of memory, as are all my guises, but Nathaniel was me and I was him.

(7: How I remember his pain and fear as I tried to hide it from him. I felt such guilt over that particular injury(7.1), the injury that killed him. Here I was, alive and well, and I couldn't save him just then. He gave his life for mine. (7.1: Imagine that. Guilt for a harmed magician.))

And it was Nathaniel's form I took when I was speared through the essence and wisked away to the Earth. I fought for a moment, utterly shocked. They had the gall to bring me back again! Shouldn't I have been on the do-not-call list? I was not yet ready to return to the realm of humans. Whilst my essence may have been healed sufficiently, the Earth brought me _otherwordly_ pains.

I swirled from thick black smoke within the pentacle into the solidfied form of the pale boy with bright-dark eyes. Automatically, I searched for breaks in the spell so that I might've killed the damned magician who dared attempt to summon Bartimaeus once more. How the hell did anyone even know that I was still alive? Nathaniel's last gift had died with him.

I hadn't even judged my surroundings before my fury pooled forth, but it was soon dismissed when I saw my summoner.

Kitty Jones.

xxxxx

And just as I last saw her before, she was high shouldered and proud. She stood in the summoner's cirlce opposite, dressed in all black(1). Her face was still marred with the twistings of the Other Place. She had a hard expression about her, stony faced and dark. Her eyes still had that signature Kitty spark, and for that I was glad. She hardly looked any different. And the way I felt and she looked, it couldn't have been more than a few weeks since the battle at the Glass Palace.

(1: Black trousers and long sleeved tee, to be specific. All the black made me wonder - did she summon me for the funeral? And I still wondered further - how had she known I was still alive? She must've summoned me on a whim, or hope.)

Her face, upon seeing mine, (Or Nathaniel's, rather) grew darker. Her half-wrinkled brow furrowed. I kept the boy's expression neutral, his back straight. The hands hung limply at his sides, his dress shirt sleeves rolled up in the fashion he had liked(2).

(2: With his age came better fashion choices, thank the _heavens_. I don't think I would've taken his form had he been keen to keep his frilly, flamboyant ways.)

"Kitty." I said. Calm and stern.

"Bartimaeus." She seemed unsure, and she clenched and unclenched her fists nervously.

xxx

Kitty stared at the Djinni in front of her, taken slightly aback by his appearance. She hadn't expected Bartimaeus to take on Mandrake's - no, Nathaniel's form like that. It was unsettling. This version of Nathaniel seemed much, much colder, and so much more ancient. It made her wonder what the real Ptolemy must've been like in person.

She stood there awkwardly for what seemed like forever, before she decided to test her luck and step out of the pentacle and skip forward. She flung her arms around the Djinni's neck and hugged him tightly. Her strength had returned to her in the past three weeks, and she used all she had right then.

"I missed you, Bartimaeus." she whispered. So far, the spirit hadn't hugged back. He remained quite still. But he didn't take the oppurtunity to eat her, so that was a good sign. "I'm glad you're alright." She stood back and stared him in the eyes. Nathaniel's eyes - the only part of the replication that truly felt like the real thing.

He smiled, and she knew she'd done the right thing. "You scrubbed up alright, Kitty. Congratulations on the not-being-dead thing. I guess I'm good at that as well - but how'd you know that? Lucky guess?" he asked, in the voice that wasn't Nathaniel's. And not entirely Bartimaeus' either - it seemed too...lackluster. Kitty couldn't blame him. But she also felt warmed by his voice.

"Not that I mind, of course. I thought I'd never get to see you again."

"I thought so, too. But he managed to save you in the end! I mean, saving himself was a marvel. I thought he'd died for you, but-"

" _No_ -"

Bartimaeus made the face contort into shock and then something like rage.

"Yes! He's survived. Isn't that wonderful?" Kitty laughed, shaking the boy's shoulders. She awaited a similar response, but the shocked expression remained.

They stared at each other for a few moments, Kitty grinning, Bartimaeus frozen.

Finally, he spoke.

"That dirty little bastard! I _swear_ I'll kill him!"

xxxxx

"Bartimaeus, where are you going?"

The Djinni had stomped Ptolemy's form (upon learning of Nathaniel's survival, he immediately switched guises) out of Nathaniel's office space (for Kitty had summoned him within the young man's townhouse) and down the hall. He didn't need to be told where _he_ was. He was probably cozied up in bed, lazy as an old cat.

"Oh, Bartimaeus, I knew you'd be excited! He told me what he did, by the way, and I really am so glad you're alright!"

He continued stomping, and upon reaching the stairs, climbed them with Kitty at his heels. He supposed he could've flew, but stomping felt very right.

She followed him up two flights, muttering the whole way. "Oh, it's a marvel that he's alright - Well, I'll let him tell you himself. I'm just so glad it worked! Everyone thought he was a goner, but - well, he'll tell you. Won't you stop for a moment? I'm not what I used to be, you know."

It was true, her bones ached from climbing the stairs, but the Djinn was ceaseless. They were at the top level now, approaching Nathaniel's chamber. "Well, I suppose you know where you're going. He's in his room. I can't believe what he did for you! Just like Ptolemy did!"

Bartimaeus finally stopped. He twisted Ptolemy's form around abruptly, and Kitty nearly ran into the Egyptian boy, dressed in modern day clothes. He didn't say anything, but shot Kitty a cold, ancient glare. After a moment (and after Kitty quieted) Bartimaeus continued walking the few steps to Nathaniel's door.

He didn't bother knocking. The door swung wide open with a creak, and Bartimaeus stood in the doorway as though ready to pounce.

Kitty saw him pause and stare at Nathaniel's form lying in the bed. He didn't move, so she spoke again, in hushed tones.

"He's been resting a lot. I'd have summoned you earlier, but I needed rest as well. As did you, I imagine."

Still, Bartimaeus stood frozen, staring.

"You should let him sleep." she cooed. She leaned against the doorway and peered over the boy's shoulder. Nathaniel seemed fine, sleeping peacefully.

Still the Djinni did not move.

"Well, I'll leave you alone. Don't kill him, okay?" She smiled softly, glancing between the two. She placed a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder and left down the hallway, her grin widening.

Her smile was quite sincere.

xxxxx

I had stormed up those steps and flung open his door with all the intentions of killing him.

Burning him, drowning him (perhaps drowning him in magma?), dismembering him, devouring him, atomizing him. Really, I could go on.

How dare he trick me into caring about his death? And here he was, alive and well! And there I had been, regretting his supposed demise! Hell, I was never even supposed to be summoned again, but here I was! And how dare that silly girl compare his actions to my Ptolemy! I was ticked off, to put it lightly. At the very least, I should've liked to scream at him for a good while. Throw him some good ol' Bartimaeus insults.

But then I actually saw him.

I had flung open the door and froze. I'm pretty certain Kitty said a few things, but I didn't notice. All I saw was him.

The blinds were drawn shut, but I picked him out in the dark well enough. He looked exactly as he should: half dead. He was lying on his back in a nest of comforters and sheets. One arm was draped over his chest, the other lying next to his face. Waist down he was covered by a blankets. His chest and midriff were exposed.

Not really exposed - his entire ribcage, it seemed, was wrapped in bandages. A sharp contrast of red-brown blotched the otherwise perfectly white strips. The wound on his side was a nasty one, tainted with strong magic, and it would take a while for him to heal.

I'm pretty certain Kitty had left at the point, but I stared a while longer. There he was, alive. Mostly. I changed forms into that of a crow and flew on silent wings to land on his chest. He didn't stir.

I studied him further. First, the damages. I looked more closely at the wound to his side. There was no way he should be alive, even if the boots had taken him away from the explosion. The wound had been too severe. I had _felt_ it. I didn't really pay much thought to that now. The wound seemed to be healing, at least. The blood on the bandages was dry and old. Perhaps I'd change them later.

Next, to his face. He was still fast asleep. He was pale, more pale than usual; ashen. The bags under his eyes had deepened. There were the makings of scars along his jaw and across his face, burns from the Pestilence. They were already faded to pink. Despite his pitiful(1) condition, he seemed to glow in the half light(2).

(1: More pitiful than usual, I mean.)

(2: Moreso on the other planes than the first. One one hand, his aura was significantly stronger from our One-ness and the magical rot at his side, but incredibly feeble from his physical weakness.)

Well, he was here. And I was here. He would heal. I snapped my beak irritably. I wanted him to wake up so I could yell at him, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. He seemed so peaceful. While awake, Nathaniel always looked so angry, annoyed, or depressed beyond his years. While slumbering, his troubled brow smoothed. He could've been dead. Plus, I wouldn't have to listen to him ramble on about his heroics(3).

(3: Though deep down I knew he had begun to change. He would want to tell me about the end, after I was gone, but not to brag.)

He _could've_ been dead. He _should_ be dead, but he wasn't. He had a lot of explaining to do.

But for now, I'd let him rest. I hopped my feathered form from his chest and onto the bed, and nestled into the crook between his shoulder and neck. I fluffed my feathers and settled down, lying the crow's neck and beak across his throat. I felt his pulse beneath me. Warm and strong and very much so alive.

I heard him sigh contentedly, and I closed my beady bird eyes.


End file.
